"I could've sworn there was some left—how is it all gone?"
Shen Xianjun rummaged through Hu Jun's cabinet. He had finally developed a taste for spicy food and had been eyeing his brother-in-law's stash of chili sauce for ages. Today, he'd seized the perfect opportunity.
"You little rascal, going through my stuff again!"
Hu Jun returned just in time to catch him red-handed.
"And you’re wearing my clothes!"
Shen Xianjun pointed at the outfit Hu Jun had on. Hu Jun’s expression faltered for a moment.
"I had a meeting to attend. Meanwhile, you took advantage of my absence to raid my cabinet. We’re not done talking about this."
"What’s there to say? Just admit Mom favors you. Brother-in-law, where’s the chili sauce?"
Shen Xianjun gave up his search.
"Gone. There was only one jar to begin with—you know how much the others can eat."
Hu Jun shut the cabinet firmly.
"What about the jar? I could scrape off the leftovers."
"Liao Yuanjie had the same idea. He scraped it clean, and the jar’s probably drying after being washed."
"That little—he did it on purpose!"
Shen Xianjun decided then and there to challenge Liao Yuanjie to a "friendly" match that evening.
"You’d better focus on tomorrow’s assessment first."
Hu Jun’s remark instantly deflated Shen Xianjun’s enthusiasm.
The three-month training program had squeezed every second out of their days. Aside from meals, everyone was buried in study materials. Shen Xianjun had long since resumed his physical training, too.
---
Yang Yufen stood with a feather duster in hand, glaring at the children kneeling before her.
"Granny Yang, it’s my fault. I was the one who led the others to catch the chicken."
Hu Zhenghao knelt at the front, shielding his three younger brothers behind him.
"Granny Yang, I’m also to blame. I didn’t protect Erbao well, and he got pecked by the chicken."
Dabao clutched the lifeless hen by its broken neck, while Erbao sniffled, his eyes brimming with tears.
It was the weekend, and the children had no classes. Yang Yufen had assumed they’d be safe playing in the residential compound, so she hadn’t given it much thought.
After finishing her work at the noodle shop, she returned home to the sound of frantic squawking from the backyard. Thinking a weasel had gotten into the coop, she grabbed the feather duster and hurried over—only to be met with the children’s wails the moment she stepped inside.
The sight of the feather duster in her hand sent the kids dropping to their knees instinctively.
Yang Yufen’s heart pounded as she tucked the duster into her waistband and pulled Erbao closer to inspect the injury on his hand.
It looked painful—no blood, but a nasty bruise. No wonder he was crying so hard. At least it wasn’t a goose; that would’ve been worse.
"You grabbed a broody hen—of course she pecked you! If you wanted to see the chicks, why not wait for me to come back?"
She assumed they’d been curious about the baby chickens.
"No, Granny Yang. We wanted to make a shuttlecock. We’re sorry—we didn’t mean to kill the chicken."
Hu Zhenghao explained guiltily.
"A shuttlecock?"
Yang Yufen blinked.
"For Yaoyao jiejie’s birthday," Dabao added.
"But this hen’s feathers aren’t even pretty. You wanted to give Yaoyao a shuttlecock as a gift?"
Yang Yufen couldn’t help but chuckle.
Erbao nodded, his tears subsiding.
"We’ve got spare feathers at home—I saved some from last time. I’ll pick out nice ones for you later. But no more sneaking into the coop, understand? Always ask an adult first. Since you’ve owned up to your mistake, do you accept your punishment?"
She took the dead hen from Dabao’s hands.
"Granny Yang, punish us!"
Wang Xing nodded eagerly.
"Then you’ll each write your name one full page. You’re the oldest, Zhenghao—you get two pages. Neat handwriting, no sloppiness. Understood?"
She fixed Hu Zhenghao with a stern look.
"Yes, ma’am!"
Hu Zhenghao straightened his back and vowed.
The four children, still speckled with feathers, obediently settled onto small stools, gripping their pencils to begin their sentences.
Yang Yufen tested the hen’s neck. When she’d arrived, she’d seen Dabao seize the bird after it pecked Erbao. The boy’s grip had been so strong the chicken stopped moving almost instantly. The kid had quite the strength.
Erbao’s right hand hurt from the pecking, so he switched to his left. Yang Yufen noticed but said nothing. By the time she’d cleaned and stewed the chicken, the children were presenting their work for inspection.
"Not bad. You can go make the shuttlecock now."
She handed them the feathers. When she checked Erbao’s page, she was surprised to find his writing barely skewed despite using his non-dominant hand.
"Erbao, write one more for me, will you?"
She’d heard of people who could use both hands equally well but had never seen it herself.
Though confused, Erbao complied.
"Good. Go play with your brothers now."
Yang Yufen studied the characters—his full name, no less—and set the paper aside before returning to the stove.
---
"Auntie Yang, we’re so sorry about the kids. Here’s two yuan—please take it."
Wang Xing’s parents arrived to pick him up. These days, they didn’t need to check the nursery; they could always find the children here.
Learning their son had killed a laying hen—and then feasted on it—left them equal parts exasperated and amused.
"Put that away. Kids will be kids—it wasn’t malicious, and the meat didn’t go to waste. We all shared it."
Yang Yufen firmly refused the money.
That evening, she took the two boys to the Hu residence. At month’s end, Shen Xianjun called home.
"Take a look at this handwriting, in-law."
Yang Yufen showed Erbao’s papers. The children had scampered off to Hu Zhenghao’s room to play.
"Very neat! Erbao’s grip has improved so much!"
Professor Wen praised immediately.
"These were written with his right hand. After the chicken pecked him, he switched to his left. This one here—I asked him to write it specially."
Yang Yufen pointed to the latter sample.
"His left hand?"
Professor Wen leaned in, scrutinizing the characters.
"Both hands produce nearly identical writing. See here—this is where he switched. A bit shaky at first, but he adjusted quickly."
"Should we correct him for using his left hand?"
Yang Yufen fretted.
"Not at all. In fact, we should observe him more. If he’s truly ambidextrous, we ought to nurture it. Niannian could write beautifully with both hands too."
"Ah, so he takes after Niannian! That makes sense—Erbao’s temperament is more like hers."
Yang Yufen’s worry melted away.
"A good thing, that child’s cleverness. I just wish I were literate. If Niannian were here, the kids would’ve learned so much more."
She feared holding them back.
"Children like Niannian and Erbao often have a gift for learning, especially languages. I’ve noticed Erbao focuses intently when watching TV. Tell you what—after school and dinner, send him to me."
"Zhenghao’s already started foreign language lessons. Early exposure is key, and immersion helps. Teaching one more won’t make a difference. Listening, reading, writing—bit by bit, it’ll benefit them all."
